


Making Tea (or Erik Lehnsherr's Guide To Waking Up A Telepath)

by scalphunter



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scalphunter/pseuds/scalphunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik making Charles a cup of tea in the mornings, a tradition that never ceases, even after everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Tea (or Erik Lehnsherr's Guide To Waking Up A Telepath)

**Author's Note:**

> For 'katethemaniac & @daysofthefuturegay for giving me the idea for this fic :)

 

Charles Xavier is not a morning person, nor will he ever become one. He grumbles and curses at early (in his opinion) sunlight, and will bury himself in the pillows and sheets until he deigns the morning ripe enough to actually move and present himself to the rest of civilization – or Erik for that matter.

Erik does not find this endearing, he frankly refuses to, when Charles' bed hair and his accent clash and his brain cannot produce words over two syllables yet.

'Tea' Charles mumbles absently and steals Erik's plumed feather pillow - one of two Erik claims as his own.

'Was that a request I hear, your majesty?' Erik pokes, stifling a grin, and leaning to ruffle Charles' hair. Charles makes an irritated noise which urges Erik to bite him instead and make a morning bruise.

'Go 'way', he says, and then mutters 'and yes it was' ... and so Erik hums and eases off the bed, the dark wood flooring a tad cool under his feet.

Erik is in the kitchen, heating the water in the kettle, which has only recently not burnt anyone (he suspects Hank is to thank for that), and searching in the array of cupboards for the tea-chest containing the unique creation of blends he knows Charles likes, when he feels Charles push at his mind sleepily.

 

_\--Erik? Come back to bed. I wasn't serious -- oh you are wonderful thank you, my dear --_

 

Erik rolls his eyes. He isn't a telepath; however, through sharing time and space with Charles he's learned how to send thoughts clearly to him, so he does precisely that. _\-- If you want your tea, Charles, get up and come to the kitchen –_

 

Erik feels the brush of annoyance and longing and resignation wafting over his conscience.  
 _\--Can't you bring it upstairs and then I can have you, tea and my bed --_

Charles thinks at him, trailing images at him, and let no-one ever say that Charles Xavier was not a tease. Erik won't indulge him. Not again. _\--No—_

The mental line, as it were, goes silent except for Charles humming Sinatra ( _I've got you deep in the heart of me, So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me, I've got you under my skin_ ). He succeeds in finding the particular tea bags and pops one in the chosen mug: this one displaying the _Apeture, Science Innovators_ logo and the symbol for nuclear fusion. Erik briefly entertains the irony of Charles owning a mug promoting a scientific exploration that created the atomic bomb.

He dismisses it and hunts down his coffee, a taste in beverage he shares, oddly enough, with Alex. He ladles two teaspoons into a plain white cup, does the maths, and tries to work out if he has boiled enough water or if Charles is getting first and special treatment. He hasn’t, he finds, and rolls his shoulders to stretch his muscles.

Erik smirks in triumph as, just as he's pouring the water over the teabag, the water hotly brewing, he senses Charles' presence moments before arms feel their way his waist: he has a warm telepath akin to a blanket attached to his person. It’s rather nice, he thinks, quietly.

'The first time you did that without warning me first you ended up flat on your back' Erik murmurs, scowling at the offending teaspoon until it rises and floats over to delicately drop into the cup. Erik twirls his index finger and the spoon stirs the tea, letting the bag infuse a little more. Charles chuckles – at which part Erik isn’t certain.

'I remember. Your reflexes are admirable' he says and Erik knows Charles is trying not to fall back to sleep against him, which the man has done on occasion - cite the long drive cross country during which Charles spent the most of the time with his head on Erik's shoulder. His syllables are gaining structure, a definite sign of improvement. Now happy with the strength, the rich reddish brown colour, he deposits the teabag on the side to be dealt with later.

'Quite' Erik replies dryly. Having already gotten out the milk, he doesn't need to move much and he's good with his hands. So, he pours in a splash of milk with a tilt of his wrist and sets the bottle down. 'Now, your majesty, tea is served' and Charles smiles - he knows the man is smiling – reaching around Erik (bodily contortions and freedom of space be dammed) to lift up the mug.

‘Much appreciated’ Charles says smoothly, hair in disarray and pajamas all rumpled, and that is more or less the last Erik receives of Charles’ sole attention and physical closeness, as it is averted to the tea which to Charles is the meaning of life in a mug. Hands curled around it, he brings it to his lips.

Erik shakes his head and wishes that the boys could see how utterly useless their 'Professor' is without his morning mug of ginger-infused Earl Grey.

‘’m not useless’ Charles glowers petulantly, and Erik snorts and ignores him, because his coffee is calling and Charles is distracting.

Erik fills up his cup as the rich strong aroma of American coffee wafts towards him, and replaces the kettle on its stand. He turns around, holding his cup, leaning against the counter and watching Charles’ eyes shut as he drinks, and the clumpy smudge of his lashes. This doesn’t compete with the inviting redness of Charles’ mouth, glowing with the heat. Erik blows across his coffee and takes a hearty gulp – honestly, anyone who ever compared this to tar had never learned how to make coffee properly.

‘You are more of a snob than I am’ Charles sing-songs lightly and Erik glares half-heartedly.

‘No I’m not. I like my coffee as it is’ he defends.

‘And I have a distinct preference for my tea, which you have perfected by the way, my friend. However  _I_ don’t berate others for their difference in technique-‘ Charles says, an impish glow to his eyes. His ability to argue coherently is an indisputable sign that he is waking up.

‘Yes you did, you did precisely that, two weeks ago in the café in Minnesota’ Erik reasons and Charles opens his mouth, closes it, opens it once more, and then drinks more of his tea. ‘I’m right’ Erik says.

‘You’re wrong’ Charles smirks.

It’s childish and so very Charles, so Erik puts down his coffee, hauling Charles slowly close by the drawstring of his pajama pants, the smaller man going willingly. Charles watches Erik through lowered lashes as he downs the rest of his tea, his Adam’s apple working in even bobs. He’s finished, his breath accentuated by ginger and, without looking away from Erik, and he places his mug on the counter next to Erik’s. Charles’ hands make tracks across his abdomen and chest. Erik drops his head down, unhurriedly, into the hollow of Charles’ neck; he bites, softly, pushes his tongue over Charles’ skin and collects the taste of him.

 

 

 

_Many moons, battles and years later…_

‘I’m right’

‘You are wrong, you just refuse to accept it, which is the epitome of your entire career’ Charles says idly, and steals Erik’s ballpoint.

‘Excuse me’ Erik grouses in resignation. He blinks at his journal and the unfinished sentence left hanging now he is without pen.

‘What?’ Charles turns to look at Erik, ‘It’s my pen, it has my initials on it, I can take it from you if I want. Besides, how else am I supposed to complete the crossword if not with a pen?’

Erik scowls and rolls his eyes, ‘Fine. Fourteen down is _bequeath’_ he spares The New York Times newspaper spread across Charles’ lap a critical glance.

‘You’re right’

‘I did say so’ Erik grins smugly, waiting for the indignant reply which, dutifully, comes.

‘Do be quiet, Erik’

‘Of course, Charles’

‘Forty years and you’re still as stubborn as when I met you’. Charles inks _embellish_ into three across, and Erik closes his journal, running a hand over the black leather. They’re in bed, both in corded dressing gowns, and the sun streams in from the windows over the double four poster.

‘As are you’ he replies, fondly, dropping a kiss to the other man’s shoulder.

They continue, bickering over possible words, obscure compared to more notable definitions, and Erik slides away from his gravitational slouch towards Charles and picks up the mug of tea from the side table. He carefully hands it to Charles who smiles warmly and appreciatively by a quirk of his lips. Erik claims the Times and reclaims the pen back from Charles’ grasp. He purses his lips and observes the clues.

‘Seventeen across: rebuke from Caesar’

Erik scoffs, ‘Et tu, obviously’.

‘Quite’ Charles says dryly.

Tea, a newspaper crossword, and your oldest and dearest friend – a way to spend mid-morning in your seventies.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it please leave kudos/comments :)


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